by Joel Babbitt
All the data seemed to suggest that, even though Rianna had run away from home and family, was seen working with Principay, and was evading them even now, she was somehow still on their side. The fact that she had sent him a text warning him not to go to Principay, then just the day before they had discovered that the caribou carrying the EMP bombs had already been rigged to explode when the herd arrived at Principay, something that the text seemed to imply she knew—or perhaps had done. If she truly had turned against them, she wouldn’t have warned them, of that he was certain, sister or not. There had to be another explanation as to why she was working with Principay, and that was what he was digging through the trove of data to find.
“Come on… come on…” Ryker’s tensed brow and intense stare matched the flurry of information on his glasses as he filtered through query after query. Rianna had been at Principay three days before, that was certain. He’d found her parrabattery recharge transaction, her lodging transaction, and a couple of purchases she had made.
“Aha! Well, Titus certainly is a paranoid one,” he muttered to himself. “He installed a video tracking system on North Principay. Wow, that’s no-kidding petty little dictator style.” Within a few moments his system queries had brought up the tracking records on Rianna from three days ago… and from today!
Digging through the records and correlating them to the map, starting with three days ago, he found one name that seemed somewhat familiar attached to a house she had visited; Alyssa Brutian.
“Hmm… I wonder…” he muttered as he ran the name against Principay’s emigration records. “Alyssa Firstwave!” he sat back in surprise. “That’s it!” he said excitedly to Lieutenant Flanagan who was busy flying and paid no attention to him.
Alyssa was not only Rianna’s sister-in-law, but she had been her best friend as well until both of their husbands were killed in the same core overload and Alyssa had left their home world for a ‘new life out there.’ Apparently the new life she had found was as one of Titus Brutian’s several wives.
Ryker sat back, the satisfaction of having found the key piece of information that brought the whole picture together evident on his face. “She’s here to get her best friend out of Titus’ clutches,” he said.
Marking the location of Alyssa Firstwave—Brutian’s house on his linker, Jim Ryker started digging through the security data in the area near Alyssa’s house. In his mind a simple plan was starting to form.
* * *
South Principay’s Northside Security Station looked deserted by the time Colonel Alexander and the rest of Marik’s Marauders drove up to the open gates of the small walled compound. The side door of the small armory had been broken open, but other than the broken door and a pair of slumped droids, the place was pristine. It was obvious by the dichotomy of the broken door and the pristine courtyard that the damage wasn’t done by looters, but rather by Principay’s security forces. Like the rest of South Principay, there were no lights here, no whir of motors, and no vehicles moving about. As the small convoy entered the compound, the night wind was the only sound to be heard.
“Remember, folks, sonics first,” Colonel Alexander’s voice came over their linkers.
Passing the open gates, the three vehicles parked in a scattered formation in the open courtyard between the small security forces building and the row of useless vehicles with their burning batteries and sparking component circuitry. As the vehicles stopped, an older man with a permanent limp and thirty or so extra kilograms of fat on him came out the side door. By the look on his face, he expected the small convoy to be help from one of the other sections of Principay.
“Well, about time someone sent help!” the older man said as Captain Washington approached. When she powered up her sonic pistol the old man’s eyes got wide and he stumbled back with his arms up in front of his face. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he pled.
“Sir, go stand out of the way against that wall, please,” Shannon Washington said calmly. “And don’t make any sudden moves or I will shoot you,” she added.
The older man moved out of the way as everyone dismounted and went to work looting the station. Soon the heavy quadcopter landed and RePete and Ryker both joined in the task. Within a few minutes everyone was kitted out in the standard outer gear of the Principay security forces. But to be able to tell each other apart from the local security forces, they kept on their camouflaged nanomer-weave under armor and slap-plates beneath the tactical vests and helmets they had acquired.
Since Principay didn’t allow yazri settlers in their midst, not that any would choose to live here anyway, the four yazri mercenaries didn’t bother with security forces gear, instead spending their time prying the magnetic security forces placards from the burned out vehicles and placing them on the armored doors of their own vehicles.
Within a few minutes the entire convoy was ready to roll.
* * *
“But why me, sir?” Lieutenant Flanagan whined.
“Because Josh Langdon has never seen you, RePete,” Colonel Alexander said firmly.
Lieutenant Flanagan rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. He’d forgotten he was on visual, not just voice.
“Lieutenant, do I detect a trace of insubordination?” Colonel Alexander growled. “Do I need to take corrective action?”
Flanagan suddenly realized he was on visual and composed himself. “No, sir. No need for that. My apologies, sir.”
Alexander waited a moment, then after what seemed like an eternity to the young lieutenant, he cut the line. Double-checking that the line had been cut, Flanagan wasted no time grousing to his sole passenger, Jim Ryker.
“Hey, look,” Ryker said, throwing up his hands in surrender, “I get it, you’ve already died once this mission. No one wants to pass through that even once. But you’ve got to admit the colonel’s right.”
“What?!” Flanagan almost looked offended.
“Well, think about it,” Ryker reasoned. “You were brought on board when Washington made captain, which happened not long after then-Captain Langdon went rogue and defected to serve Stellar Corp—and apparently now Principay as well. He knows pretty much everyone in this crew except you, the yazri, and Wolfman. You’re the only one of those that fits in. Besides, think about the story—and the fact that you only have one passenger seat on this quadcopter. Who else fits the need?”
Flanagan chewed his lip for a minute, saying nothing. Finally, with a huff, he set his eyes to the horizon and kicked the quadcopter up to full speed. After a few minutes they were approaching the outskirts of North Principay.
“Hey, RePete,” Ryker broke the silence, “do you even know where his secret war bunker is?”
Flanagan thought for a second. “I don’t suppose it matters,” he said. “I’m not going there anyway.”
“Don’t you think that will be suspicious?” Ryker asked.
Flanagan shot him a toothy smile. “I’ll keep him calm.”
“Hey, I need you to set me down…” Ryker changed the subject as he looked down at his linker and tapped something. “…right there,” he said, referring to a red blip that he’d just linked onto the vehicle’s map display.
Flanagan shot Ryker a quizzical look. “The boss said he wants us at the rendezvous point.”
“He said to get me there, which I will. It won’t take long. I’ll be in and out. Short detour,” Ryker said as he flashed Lieutenant Flanagan a dazzling smile. “I promise.”
“How are you going to make it to the rendezvous point?” Flanagan asked, still not fully convinced. “Every vehicle in North Principay is fried.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a plan. Just set me down there,” Ryker said, pointing at the scar in the hillside that marked the mining complex. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point. I’ve got an errand I have to run. I’ve got someone I’ve got to find.”
Flanagan nodded. He didn’t know what vendettas Ryker might have, but he wasn’t about to stand in the way of his r
evenge. Within a few minutes he’d set the quadcopter down at the mines just east of North Principay and let Jim Ryker off before taking off toward Titus Brutian’s command center tower on North Principay.
Chapter Twenty
Fire flickering in the eerie darkness was all that greeted Lieutenant Flanagan as he set the heavy quadcopter down outside Titus Brutian’s command center. The place certainly wasn’t silent, however. The roaring of flames at the trailer-sized power substation that sat just next to the command center, with its attendant pops and periodic explosions, made enough noise that RePete didn’t hear the group of heavy-booted runners come up behind his quadcopter until they were right next to him. Most of the group was dressed in the standard military garb of Principay’s security forces, though three of them were clearly different. Two of the security force personnel were dragging a woman by either arm, her long brown hair hanging down almost to the ground from her bowed head. From where he sat RePete Flanagan could see that she was wounded and bleeding from a wound in her abdomen.
“What are you doing here?” one of the men in security force garb asked him, pulling RePete’s eyes away from the wounded woman, but he was quickly pushed aside by a rather muscular man with an intense gaze, heavy brows, and a deep scowl, all set under unruly brown hair. By the holovids, RePete easily recognized him as Principay’s dictator, Commander Titus Brutian.
“You, I’m commandeering this vehicle,” Brutian yelled over the roaring flames.
“Yes, sir,” RePete replied. “I was told to come let you know that Far Point forces have been seen moving south of the Yellow River. I’m to take you to the northern outpost where you can command the defense.”
Titus Brutian stopped and looked at the young pilot, a man he didn’t recognize. He seemed stunned, but for a moment RePete thought he was trying to place his face. Brutian’s situence glasses had been fried in the EMP blast, however, so he was having to rely on his own native ability to remember faces, something he had never bothered to develop. Finally he grunted and shook his head as he walked around to the other side of the quadcopter and began strapping into the passenger seat as RePete started the rotors on the small craft.
“Who sent you?” one of Brutian’s henchmen asked. This was another man RePete recognized from the holovids; Josh Langdon, Brutian’s merciless enforcer and Stellar Corp liaison to Principay who had defected from Marik’s Marauders shortly before RePete came on board.
“Sir, when the EMP blasts happened, then the sensors triggered, Ops up north sent me to find Commander Brutian,” RePete answered.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Langdon asked. “Who sent you?”
“Sir, I don’t know who’s running ops right now,” RePete answered, his stress-level rising.
“Let me see that linker,” Langdon demanded, pointing to RePete’s linker that was keyed to Marik’s Marauder’s internal channel.
By this time the rotors were fully spinning. In a panic, RePete pulled back on the stick. Instantly, the heavy quadcopter leapt up into the air.
“Hey, what are you doing?!” Commander Brutian yelled in surprise.
“Nothing, sir,” RePete answered, sweat beginning to drip down his face. “I just thought you’d want to get to the bunker immediately.”
As RePete revved the engines to max throttle, accelerating as they arced back over the destroyed power stations and the eastern mining complex, Brutian looked suspiciously at RePete and reached out to the vehicle’s auxiliary display for their navcomputer only to find it locked.
“What’s your name, pilot?” Brutian asked, fully on his guard now.
“Ed, sir,” RePete said, using his actual first name; it was his father’s name, so he’d always gone by his middle name. “Don’t you remember me, sir? You greeted me when I emigrated three years ago.”
RePete’s bluff put Brutian off for a moment, but he was on the scent now and nothing was going to shake him. RePete just hoped he could bluff him long enough to get to the rendezvous point. Milking the throttle for every ounce of power, he decided to stay up against the mountain slopes to the east of Principay, to take advantage of the updrafts as he headed south.
Titus Brutian pulled his long, thin stiletto from its sheath on his thigh and held it to RePete’s ribs. “You’re going the wrong way,” he said with a deadly calm.
RePete’s eyebrows rose as he looked down then back up quickly. “Sir, I need to hit the eastern pass,” he tried to explain.
Brutian deliberately sliced open RePete’s side. Blood started seeping from the precise wound the nano-sharpened blade left over one of his ribs.
“Sir!” RePete cried out in dismay, the pain of the wound only just starting to be felt.
“Take me back to North Principay, whoever you are!” Brutian yelled over the whir of the blades.
“Okay, okay!” RePete said, then, as he began to turn back over East Principay, a tear welled up in his eye and he sighed a resigned sigh. Steeling his resolve, he pushed forward on the throttle, driving the heavy quadcopter down like a lawn dart toward the green ridges of the eastern mountains.
Twisting the buckle on his harness, RePete almost made it off the quadcopter before Titus Brutian could react, but RePete wasn’t the only one with genmods that enhanced his reaction time. Lashing out, Brutian thrust his stiletto knife deep into RePete’s ribcage. In a moment, Lieutenant ‘RePete’ Flanagan’s body slid from the pilot’s seat and fell silently, almost peacefully through the air before it hit the ground far below, leaving blood-splatter and exposed meat that would serve as a siren for the carrion-eating swordwings that circled the area from time to time.
Back on the quadcopter, Titus Brutian was trying furiously to get the quadcopter under control. The pilot had managed to flip the exceptionally steady vehicle, however, and it was now powering down toward the ground. Leaning over and grabbing the controls with both hands, he managed to continue it’s flip until the vehicle had almost righted itself. The velocity of its fall was far too much for the rotors to counter, however, and in a moment one of the rotors sheared off, pitching the heavy vehicle off balance.
Off in the distance, Colonel Alexander and the rest of Marik’s Marauders were sitting in their vehicles at the agreed upon link-up point in the large empty prairie land that sat between North, South, and East Principay Colonies. Pulling up his magnigoggles, Alexander and Captain Washington both stared in silence as the heavy quadcopter first took a plunge, then flipped as a body fell lifelessly from the craft, then partially righted itself before one of the rotors exploded. Finally, they saw the craft wobble and spiral downward until it impacted with a flurry of leaves and branches near the pass over the mountains that led to the eastern steppes.
For several moments all were silent. Finally, Captain Washington’s voice came over the linker.
“Sir…”
“Yes, Shannon, we need to go confirm that Lieutenant Flanagan is indeed dead,” Colonel Alexander cut her off.
“And…”
“Yes, and that Titus Brutian is dead as well,” Alexander said with a sigh.
“Yes, sir,” Captain Washington said, her tone subdued.
“Sir, and what we be doing for Mister Ryker?” Jack Wolf asked.
“Nothing,” Alexander said, still fuming that Ryker had disobeyed his orders and gotten Flanagan to drop him at the mining complex for whatever dubious reason. “He’s a big boy. Whatever he’s doing, I’m sure he’s got a plan.”
A moment later, as the caravan of three armored survey trucks were getting in line and moving out toward the pass through the eastern mountains, Captain Washington called Colonel Alexander on his private channel.
“Sir, I don’t condone what Ryker did any more than you do, but don’t you think we should go pull him out of there?” she asked.
Alexander shook his head. “We need to get after Brutian, in case he somehow survived. Ryker’s got a linker. If he needs help, I’m sure he’ll call.”
That answer didn’t sit well with
Captain Washington, but there wasn’t much more she could say, so she just nodded her head and broke the link.
Not ten minutes later the small convoy had split up, with Sergeant Thompson’s vehicle stopping further down the slope not far from where Lieutenant Flanagan’s body lay, the hot-white of its silhouette in the thermals slowly cooling down, giving a clear indication that Flanagan was dead, but it was important to collect up his personal effects and body parts, so that he wouldn’t be identified later and put down as dead. They couldn’t have that, as leaving proof of death would create problems when he showed up alive again later.
The other two vehicles in the convoy continued up the slope to where the quadcopter had crash-landed—and hopefully to where they would find Commander Titus Brutian’s body. When they arrived, the crash site was a typical mess—the body of the quadcopter had slammed through the trees, but the three remaining rotors had also come free of their housings, slashing through the trees and underbrush like giant machetes.
“Boss man,” Jack Wolf, their resident survivalist, said as they dug through the mess looking for Titus Brutian’s body.
Colonel Alexander stood up and wiped the sweat of the warm night’s work from his brow. “What is it, Wolfman?” he asked.
“I don’t think he be dead,” Wolf said.
Everyone stopped and looked at Wolf with concern. It was well known that he had heightened senses—genmods paid for by Marik—but no one had thought to ask him to use them.
“I don’t smell him,” Wolf said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Alexander said. Turning to the rest of the group, he immediately started rearranging people to establish something of a perimeter.
Wolfman soon started looking around the perimeter of the crash site, sniffing here and tasting there. As he went about his work everyone looked around the area tensely. They knew Brutian was a formidable foe, but they also knew he’d been in the EMP blast area and had just crash-landed so they all wondered what sort of danger he might present.